Waiting to Wake Up
by planet p
Summary: AU; sort of a continuation to Forgotten in the Morgue.


**Waiting t****o Wake Up** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

She wakes from her strange, turbulent screaming dreams, in a green bed, eight floors underground.

As a child, she both loved and hated this place – Med Space. As an adult, she is consumed by hate for it. It is not what it was then. It is cold and hard and there is no light, though it is everywhere, never leaving. It is no longer an adventure, it no longer swells her heart with anticipation and kindness and warmness. It is cold and hard and she doesn't like it.

The bottoms of her toes touch the cold, hard floor as she slips out of the green bed, then her feet, and she suppresses a shiver. Why the floors are so cold, she'll never know. As a child, they were warm.

She moves to the door and sees that Sydney is standing outside. Sydney, she knows, not Jacob. She's always known, though she doesn't _know_ how.

She remembers where she is – Med Space – and thinks strangely that she'd not be connected to any machines, but is glad.

Sydney doesn't hear when she opens the door, and she glides toward him. He's warm, she can feel, and she's cold. Sydney will help her.

"Sleeping, Sydney," she says, and Sydney turns about to see her as though startled, but his expression isn't startled, it's something else.

She nods, but Sydney's expression remains the same. Stricken, she thinks.

He turns to glance at the person sitting on the floor, and she leans to the side to look past him. Oh, she'd thought it was someone else. She frowns. "Still sleeping," she says calmly, and moves around Sydney, her footsteps whisper quiet. "One shan't sleep with one's eyes open," she says, to her brother, and she sighs, and turns to Sydney without a frown. Still sleeping, her face says. She turns and glares at her brother and twin, then points her finger down at the floor. "Floor."

He places a hand on the wall beside him, palm flat.

She makes a face. "The floor is down, the wall is _on the side_!"

Lyle gets to his feet and stares at her.

She thinks that he's avoiding looking at Sydney, more than anything, and feels uncertain. So, she's safe, safer than Sydney anyway, now? She doesn't know that she likes the feeling, or understands it. She returns her attention to her brother.

"Now," he says, almost quietly.

She steps forward and pats a hand heavily on the wall. "Always!"

He makes a face.

She refrains from hitting him and steps backward, uncomfortable to be so close.

Sydney is staring at them, trying to understand, but confused; upset to be confused.

Lyle starts humming something. Eartha Kitt, she thinks, and doesn't look for some deep hidden meaning, not concerning her, at least.

He's trying not to think about Sydney standing there, she thinks, and wonders why that is. Sydney makes her feel safe, not offbeat.

He looks at the floor, wide-eyed for a fleeting moment, and steps past her, and then Sydney, and walks away.

She looks at Sydney and pretends she doesn't see Lyle walking away.

Sydney looks at her, still uncertain, but not about her.

"How very modern!" she comments, of course, of her brother's latest taste in music, and Sydney frowns, as though he doesn't – he can't – follow her.

Strange, she thinks, the way Lyle can, but Sydney can't. She fights a shiver, wonders if it's always like that, if all he has to do is look at her, or _not_ look at her, to know.

For a moment, she wishes they weren't twins. It complicates things. She feels, unalone. A strange feeling comes to her; it's just that, sometimes, she _wants_ to be alone.

Not that she ever wants _him_ with her, or near her. If it was Ethan, or someone else, yes, or maybe, but not _him_. It's just a thing that she does – that happens – when she's around him, she doesn't like it. She doesn't want it.

She allows herself to trail past Sydney, he's behind her, still standing there, then he steps after her. "I _need_ caffeine," she supplies, and continues to walk, and he's right there, behind her.

She does need coffee. For now, coffee is happy, joyous, comforting. Coffee is like warm, unafraid arms. She needs coffee's arms. She doesn't want to think about _him_, her brother.

She shivers. It shouldn't be this way, about _her brother_. But it is what it is.

For a moment, she wishes it had been someone else, then, that she kicked him. Her mind is overwhelmed with vicious words, but she makes them stop. _No, goddamn it, no!_ She doesn't want to think about him, terminus!

Coffee. Coffee soothes her. Soon, coffee.

Coffee makes him sad, she thinks. Such a strange thought. She wonders where it came from, and why. What can it mean? _You know why!_

She's unsettled now, very unsettled.

Not always. Not always unhappy, she thinks. But it's not her, it's not her thinking these thoughts. It's not!

But it is.

She suppresses a gasp.

_Me!_

It's her, but it's her before.

Coffee, then, the child agrees, pleased, and whisks away into nothingness, but not gone, still there, somewhere.

Then, she _does_ stop.

It was the child, the child that felt someone there, on the other side of Sydney, hiding out of sight, and then, when she looked, she saw that it wasn't the same someone she'd thought it was. _She'd_ thought! The child knew, same someone perfectly.

She stops dead.

_You've met!_ She can't help the accusation and horror.

My brother, the voice comes back to her. Possessive and proud and…

She can't!

The child smiles, pleased with her little upset, but she – the _older_ Miss Parker – reaches out to catch a corner, a small vestige, before she goes.

_What?_

He was sleeping. Shouldn't have woken him. The child is upset. So upset. He was _my brother_.

She presses herself to the wall, palms flat, the backs of her hands to her chest.

My brother! the child hollers, indignant. _You_ don't want him, but that doesn't mean _I_ don't!

She steps sharply back from the wall, shocked. Terrified.

The child is gone. Fled, dismissive.

Miss Parker steps back – and onto Sydney. She turns to face him, hands out, confused, upset, reassuring. Not you, _Syd_. Her!

She finds her hands on Sydney's chest, drops her shoulders. "I_ need_ caffeine!" She's hallucinating; she's bloody hallucinating!

She turns, suddenly, and walks away. _Stay away! Keep back, mad little girl! Mad little traumatised thing! How would you know?_

She's sipping a hot coffee.

Not good for you, the child sings, voice ringing with knowing and gloating.

She's unduly harsh: _Shut up, you little maniac!_

Hate him, but can't make me hate him! the child teases.

She ignores the child and concentrates on her coffee, then glances at Sydney. Sydney tells her about a conference he's due to attend. She's not really interested, but… The coffee, or Sydney, makes it better.

Conference? She sighs inwardly, then wonders: Biscuits? She could do with some of those now.

She notices they're not alone, suddenly, feeling startled. _She's that alert!_ But she feels safe with Sydney. So what, they're not alone, who cares?

Fulton is standing by the refrigerator, leaning against the side bench, eating a biscuit whilst she reads through something. She doesn't look upset – but she's eating a biscuit, it's okay because it's Fulton, scary I-threaten-ANYONE-with-a-scalpel Fulton.

She ponders that for a moment. Well, maybe 'threaten' is the wrong choice of word. She was talking, and the scalpel _just happened_ to be in her hand, and she always gets upset when she's talking to Raines. Can't help it, can't stop it, wants his job, but Ani's going to get it.

She suppresses a sarcastic laugh. That isn't her nickname for Cox, it's Raines's. Anakin Skywalker, so it goes.

Beware the dark side, Anakin, it's _waiting_ for you!

She smiles, then grins. Can't help it.

Sydney sees her smiling, smiles too. Can't help it, really.

She's dazzling, she thinks. Dazzling. Yes, I am. She smiles a bit more, all of her earlier worries melted away – lemon-drop melted – _Sydney thinks she's dazzling!_


End file.
